


Things Aren't So Beautiful Now

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Set between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Age of Ultron;The pain they share has formed their bond.





	Things Aren't So Beautiful Now

**Author's Note:**

> (Please be aware, reference of recklessness as a form of self-harm)

The water is too hot when Steve steps under the spray, but he endures because it's better than being cold, and because it warms his muscles enough to dispel the ache, at least temporarily. 

It hurts the top of his head, so hot it's almost numb, and his shoulders, burns the skin on his chest just a little, but he closes his eyes and imagines he can feel the grime sluicing out of his hair, off his skin, imagines he can feel it running over his limbs and hear it swirling away down the drain. He cannot imagine that it takes his errors with it, or the horrors he has seen, but nothing will. 

He sets his palms against the wall and clenches his teeth so they don't chatter, eyes squeezed shut so they can't hurt in the light, and lets the water burn the back of his neck instead.

He doesn't startle when a hand covers the skin there, fingers resting over the nape of his neck. He doesn't need to startle – he knows who it is.

Thor doesn't speak because he doesn't have to, because Steve already knows it's him and nothing either of them say will change things. The fingers at the nape of his neck shift gently, an echo of a caress, and Steve knows he shouldn't have the temperature up so high, Steve knows that being able to heal is not a good enough excuse to hurt onesself, no matter how small the hurt. Many people have told him so but it was Thor's words that meant something to him. 

The sentiment does not stay with him - things aren't that simple, and his habits cannot be broken so easily. But it gripped him tight once, held fast long enough that the marks remain deep in Steve's mind, and they ache in recognition at a mere touch, a mere glance from Thor.

Steve does not move away from him - a silent answer to Thor's silent reminder, a wordless apology to Thor's soundless admonishment. 

Thor does not allow him to lift his head until his arm has circled Steve and changed the temperature, until he has shifted the showerhead so that the water beats against Steve's knees and his upper body is left cold. Then Thor lifts Steve's head for him, sliding his palm from the nape of Steve's neck to his throat instead, the breadth of his hand spanning the vulnerable column of pale skin. He raises his hand here, against the underside of Steve's jaw from thumb to forefinger, and tilts Steve's head toward the ceiling.

They are alike, the two of them, sharing the pain of a brother lost, a brother found but in pain, hated. The reasons differ, but their desperate, unyielding love is the same. Nobody understands each of them the way the other does. Neither can replace, but each can understand. 

Thor's mouth is warm when it presses, open, against the skin beneath Steve's ear, his teeth scraping sharp against the still-stinging flesh of the back of Steve's neck. Steve's eyes are sore as he closes them, his body weary but pliant, willing as Thor bends it to his will. 

He holds Steve's head up as his other palm sweeps down, from his chest to the sweet, shallow curve of Steve's lower stomach, and holds him there.

Steve is never more aware of his nakedness than he is when met with Thor's patience, never more aware of each individual piece of himself than he is when Thor devotes himself to each one. The air is cool, Thor's skin seeming warmer with each passing moment, as the remembered heat of the shower fades from Steve's skin. If this is the temperature his body must endure, he could almost get used to it. 

Steve feels the water swirl about his feet, between his toes, feels the flow of water run down his legs, the splatter speckling his thighs, his stomach. Each droplet left on his upper body cools as at crawls over his skin, and Steve suppresses shiver lest Thor think it's from the temperature instead of his touch.

When Thor has them kneel, Steve's body obeys as though it were an order, and they sink to their knees together in the three inches of water that have accrued at the bottom of the tub. 

Thor does not need to bring Steve's head back against his shoulder, does not need to bring the length of his body against Steve's, because Steve has already done it, Steve has already given himself up like this, laid bare and trusting as the water beats against his chest.

It is cooler still now that they are kneeling, now that the spray of water on Steve's skin has a good four feet further to fall before it reaches him, and it rolls like whispering fingers down his torso, his stomach, between his legs and down his thighs, and his mouth falls open as his lungs fill.

Thor's clever fingers curl on his lower stomach, and Steve's head rolls back against Thor's shoulder as they dip lower, find their mark. 

Steve keeps his eyes closed, his breathing even as much as possible, and allows his body's necessities to guide him. When his back arches, Thor arches with him, when his hips roll forward into the fist Thor makes for him, Thor's hips are pressed tight to him, and when his lips part on a sound that's loud in their relative silence, Thor kisses it from his lips and coaxes more from him.

Tension unwinds with the heat and the movement they share, while a different kind of tension builds, and they do not speak. They still don't speak. They don't need to speak.

Instead, Steve breathes the breath Thor gives him and fills his lungs, stretches his limbs so that Thor might have all of him, if he so desires. And Thor takes his fill, driving pleasure into Steve like an anaesthetic, enough to numb the last few hours, to blur the memories just enough.

When Steve comes, it's with a desperate breath, his body rigid, twisting in Thor's hold as he gasps against Thor's lips. It is as though they struggle, as though they grapple together, and Thor only holds him fast, keeps the pleasure writhing through him, moves with him and with him, until they slow together, until the soft sounds Steve makes are gone, until his chest heaves no longer, and until he kneels still, his weight borne by Thor alone, the water washing him clean, soothing his belly of the strain it bore, while he regains his strength. 

Thor cannot make the world a better place, cannot undo the terrors they've seen but, for a time, he can make nothing else exist besides the two of them. And, for a time, that is enough.


End file.
